


Photographic

by clocksworks



Series: Bright Light, Dark Room [1]
Category: Depeche Mode
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Black Celebration era, Crack Treated Seriously, Jealousy, M/M, Sherlock Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28356930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clocksworks/pseuds/clocksworks
Summary: When Dave gets upset over a rather innocent photo, Martin starts to suspect there’s something going on in the band.
Relationships: Dave Gahan/Alan Wilder
Series: Bright Light, Dark Room [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144841
Comments: 48
Kudos: 24





	Photographic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [what_could_have_been](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_could_have_been/gifts).



> This is a belated Christmas present for the very wonderful [what_could_have_been](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_could_have_been) who has been so encouraging and supportive. She posted this [hilarious gem on her Tumblr](https://what-could-have-been.tumblr.com/post/638032532293681152/dave-wasnt-happy-when-he-saw-the-final-photo-in), and while I was laughing at it, this story came to me. Happy holidays, dear **what_could_have_been**!
> 
> Edit: The very very talented **strange_highs_and_strange_lowss** wrote [a missing scene from this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29213334), where Alan chases Dave back to the hotel after they leave the club in Paris. Please do go read it, she wrote an immensely beautiful and emotional scene!

“What the hell is this?” Dave asked unhappily.

This roused Martin out of his pleasant daydreams, where he had been sifting through some possible lyrics about a mother giving advice to her son. He blinked as he found himself back in the venue, where they were waiting for the soundcheck to begin - except that there were some technical issues. So he, Andy and Dave were lounging in the audience seats, bored and listless. Alan was on stage, his video camera pointed at Daryl and Jane who were discussing some issues to do with the rigging for the lights.

“What the hell’s what?” a nonchalant Andy asked, squirming about to make himself comfortable on the seats.

Dave held up a Swedish magazine he had been flipping through, scowling intensely as though the magazine had personally offended him. “This!” Dave jabbed a finger at one of the pages, looking angrier and angrier by the minute.

Andy took a look over Dave’s shoulder, his expression increasingly confused. “Yeah, what’s wrong with it?” he asked, while Martin - who was sitting in front of Dave - tried to peek from the other side.

It was an interview they’d done a few weeks ago in Stockholm, and Martin had been particularly pleased with the accompanying photoshoot because the new eyeliner and mascara he’d been testing had turned out very well indeed. The photographer had also asked for a few tighter, more intimate poses, and Martin quite liked the shot they’d chosen for the article: he, Andy and Alan were huddled together closely on a bench, while Dave stood above them, leaning affectionately against Alan.

Overall, Martin was really very happy with the photos, so he had no idea why Dave looked like steam was about to erupt from his ears.

“What do you mean, what’s wrong with it?” Dave glared at Andy. “What the fuck are you and Al up to?”

Andy was laughing a little nervously. “What?” He peered down at the picture again, ignoring a fuming Dave. “You mean-- my arm?”

“Yeah, your fuckin’ arm,” Dave snapped, making Andy’s eyebrows shoot upwards.

“I think it’s a nice photo,” Martin ventured tentatively, shrinking when the full force of Dave’s glare now landed on him. “I mean-- it is, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I still don’t get what's wrong with it?” Andy seemed a bit braver now that Martin had chimed in. He pointed at the glossy page, hovering over where his arm was looped over Alan’s knee. “I’ve got my arm over Alan, Mart’s leaning into me, you’re leaning into Al-- I don’t see the problem, mate.”

Dave made some sort of frustrated, explosive noise, chucking the mag onto one of the seats before he got up and stormed out of the auditorium. Martin exchanged a look of complete bewilderment with Andy, who leaned over to pick up the magazine and started thumbing through it for clues. “What the fuck did I do?” a worried Andy asked.

Martin moved over so he could get a better look at the article as well. “Maybe we missed something.”

They were still examining the magazine when Alan came up to them, his video camera already back in his bag. “Where’s Dave?” he asked, looking around.

“Dunno, he got all miffed about something and stormed out,” Andy said with a shrug.

Alan frowned down at him. “Miffed about what?”

Martin wordlessly handed him the magazine. Alan’s confusion seemed to give way to understanding once he saw the photo. “Never mind, I think I know. I’ll go find him.”

They watched Alan stride towards the direction Dave had taken. “I feel like I missed something,” a perplexed Andy admitted, scratching his head.

“Me too.” Shrugging, Martin flipped through the magazine and looked for clues until Daryl came to round everyone up for the sound check.

***

The next few days of touring proved to be really odd - and that was saying something, considering all the strange things Martin had seen on tour over the last five years. Dave was still sulking over the mysterious injustice Andy had somehow inflicted on him, and he was also ignoring Alan who was following Dave everywhere with a guilty, sheepish expression. Martin thought it was similar to the one Andy wore whenever he’d had a row with Grainne and had been relegated to sleeping on the sofa.

“Are they fighting?” Daryl asked him one day, when the band was waiting backstage in the green room and Martin was randomly strumming a few chords on his guitar.

“Who?” Martin asked, although it was easy enough to figure out who Daryl was referring to. Across the room, Dave was pouting furiously on the sofa as he nursed a whiskey, a silent Alan hovering a few feet away. “Oh. Dunno, to be honest.”

“Huh.” Daryl narrowed his eyes. “Thought you’d know whether they had a row. Franksy’s theory is that they’re fighting over a girl.”

Martin had to laugh here. “What? No, they’d never--” And then it hit him square in the head what had upset Dave in the first place. Everything fell into place so suddenly and quickly for Martin that he almost dropped his guitar in astonishment. He gaped at Daryl, who was straightening up with interest.

“What is it, Mart?”

“Er, nothing.” Martin apologetically shook his head. “Just thinking.”

Daryl arched a suspicious eyebrow at him, about to say something when JD popped his head in at the doorway and called for him. Once Daryl followed JD out, Martin put the guitar down and quickly went to look for Andy, who was playing on one of the pinball machines next door.

“I know why Dave’s throwing a strop,” Martin told Andy, who was still frowning down at the machine.

“Oh? Why?” Andy asked distractedly.

Martin leaned up and whispered something in his ear. Andy’s eyes became as round as saucers. “No bloody way,” he exclaimed, the machine and its pings entirely forgotten.

“I can think of no other reason,” Martin said.

“But they’re not--” Doubt was starting to spread across Andy’s face. “Wait, are they?”

Martin lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “They are _very_ close.”

“So are we,” Andy said, gesturing between him and Martin. “But we’re not shagging--”

Martin shushed him hurriedly as footsteps stomped past their room, Dave storming off to the loos and Alan quickly following behind. Andy narrowed his eyes, probably giving Martin’s theory more thought. “Well,” Andy said, stroking his chin in contemplation. “Dave _has_ been snapping at me more than usual.”

Sighing, Martin patted Andy on the back. “Just bear with it a while longer. I have a plan.”

***

Now that Martin knew - more or less - what the problem was, the solution presented itself quite naturally. It took some time for Andy to get on board with his plan, but in the end they both agreed that they had to make an effort to get Dave and Alan to patch up, because things were starting to be a bit unbearable on tour. Dave was irritable and kept sniping at both Andy and Alan for no reason, while their staff and crew started giving all four of them a wide berth, afraid of getting embroiled in some unspoken band dispute. Martin thought this was hilariously unfair, given that he was the one innocent party in this ridiculous charade.

His plan came to fruition on their second night in Paris, where the gig had been particularly well-received. Even Dave seemed to think so, given how he was actually smiling a bit and hanging onto Daryl backstage with a one-armed hug. So Martin suggested that they attend an afterparty at an underground club in Le Marais, relieved when Dave - still buzzing on a post-performance high - agreed to go.

After Andy successfully managed to persuade Alan on his end, they all made plans to split off into small groups and take separate cabs to the club. Martin and Dave’s group reached first, where a beautiful French hostess immediately led them to the VIP section. There were already several bottles of liquor and mixers waiting for them, so Martin made himself a drink while Dave asked their waitress for all the wine she could carry.

Alan, Andy and the rest of their group turned up when Martin was halfway through his first drink. Despite Dave’s determination to remain angry, there was no way he could hide how his face lit up when Alan joined their booth, sliding into the seat beside Andy. This seating arrangement was quite odd, with Dave and Martin on one side of the booth and Alan and Andy on the other, separated by the table and the others who’d tagged along.

The night progressed without incident as they alternated between dancing and drinking games, Dave and Alan politely ignoring each other the whole time. At one point Martin nudged Dave beside him, both of them pleasantly buzzed. “You look better,” he told Dave.

“Yeah, I feel fuckin’ great,” Dave said, his words starting to slur just a little.

Dropping a wink at Andy, Martin bravely slung his arm across Dave’s shoulder. He thought he could see Alan giving him a sharp look from the corner of his eye, but when Martin stole a glance, Alan was calmly mixing himself a vodka tonic.

As the night wore on, Martin started to let loose and draped himself over Dave more than usual, laughing too loudly at his jokes and sitting closer than warranted, despite a few confused looks from Dave. Across the table, Andy was leaning heavily against Alan, whispering intimately into Alan’s ear whenever possible. Martin thought he could feel Dave’s body stiffen everytime Andy did this, and he hid his grin behind his glass. His plan was going smoothly so far.

It was only when Daryl, JD and some of the others went off to the billiards table that Dave started glaring openly at Andy and Alan, downing more and more drinks until he was swaying slightly at the table. Andy got up first, asking, “Anyone wants to dance?”

“Yeah, why not?” Alan tipped back the rest of his drink, setting down his empty glass before getting to his feet.

"In fact, why don't the two of you just skip the foreplay and head straight to the loos for a quickie?” Dave suddenly blurted out before angrily downing a row of shots.

Andy laughed nervously. “Beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, _slut_.” Dave narrowed his eyes at Andy, whose stunned and wounded expression made Martin burst out laughing.

“Okay, you’ve had enough.” Alan came over to their side of the table, gesturing for Martin to move aside so he could reach Dave. “C’mon mate, I’m taking you back to the hotel.”

“Fuck off,” Dave snapped at him. “Leave me alone and go off with your new plaything, yeah?”

Just as they’d rehearsed, Andy put on his most aggrieved face. “Okay you lot, what the hell is going on?”

“What are you upset about?” Martin asked Dave. His buzz was starting to settle nicely in his head, but he wasn’t quite drunk yet. “You’d been angry about something for days.”

Instead of letting Alan take his arm, a red-faced Dave pushed his way out of the booth, muttering to himself as he stormed off towards the exits. Alan let out a long-suffering sigh as he followed him, leaving Martin and Andy at the booth.

“Well, fuck.” Andy flopped onto the seat beside Martin, stretching out his long stork legs as he poured himself a drink. “Think that worked?”

“Hope so,” Martin said, shrugging before he helped himself to the rest of the wine.

***

Throughout the rest of the night, Martin wasn’t very surprised when neither Dave nor Alan returned to their booth. It was possible Dave could have flounced back to the hotel in anger with Alan at his heels, so Martin proceeded to pay them no mind and get as drunk as possible. Both he and Fletch had done their best to get everything out in the open, so if Dave still wanted to stew in a jealous fit, it wasn’t Martin’s problem anymore.

They finally left the club around five in the morning, piling into different taxis back to the hotel. Martin had his feet on Daryl’s lap and his head was pillowed nicely on Andy’s shoulder. He dozed off until someone woke him up once they’d reached the Marriott. Andy helped him upstairs, and since Martin couldn’t find his room key, they both decided passing out in Andy’s room was easier instead of going down to the reception again to ask for a new one.

Martin was on the verge of dozing off, soothed by the sounds of Andy washing his face in the bathroom when he thought he heard a loud thump from next door, followed by muffled laughter. Lifting his head, Martin blinked in confusion at the wall. If he remembered correctly, Dave’s room was next door.

Getting up and tiptoeing over to where the telly was, Martin picked up one of the glass tumblers provided by the hotel and placed it against the wall, pressing his ear against it. His eyes widened when he heard male laughter, followed by a deep sigh and: “Oh, Al...”

“Oi, what’re you up to?” Andy had emerged from the bathroom and was staring at Martin in confusion.

“Shhh.” Waving for Andy to come over, he gestured for Andy to place his ear against the glass. Whatever he heard must have been more scandalous, for his face turned beetroot red.

“Fuck.” Andy seemed both embarrassed and pleased. “Looks like we sorted out their problem, then.”

“Told you my plan was brilliant.” Martin couldn’t help being smug, which he felt he had every right to be. It was a nice feeling, on top of the pleasant buzzing in his head from all the alcohol earlier.

“You’re a genius in more ways than one, Mart.” Andy grinned as he ruffled Martin’s hair before flopping onto the bed like a starfish.

Martin was about to join him when they heard loud, rhythmic thumping from next door, as though a pair of wildebeest had decided to start mating by repeatedly hurling themselves against the walls. “Oh for fuck’s sake, really?” Andy groaned, getting to his feet while Martin collapsed on the bed in a heap of giggles.

“Oi!” Andy banged drunkenly on their shared wall. “Shut it, Gay-han, or else I’m sending Daryl in there with a camera!”

 _“Fuck off!”_ came the outraged reply, followed by a few moments of silence. Then Alan’s much more sober voice shouted, _“Sorry!”_ after which the thumping and other noises stopped.

Martin was still wiping tears from laughter from his eyes as Andy rejoined him in bed. “This is the last time I let you rope me into your schemes, mate,” he muttered sleepily, stealing a pillow for himself.

Martin just couldn’t stop chuckling. “Good night, Andy.”


End file.
